In the navy, you can sail the seven seas.

Hello, Ducks!

Starzina Starfish-Browne here with your Eric’s! Daily! Horoscope! for  Wednesday, February 27, 2013.  Happy Hump Day, y’all.

We are debating with Ourself whether to tell you that We really don’t have much of a point today, and that, consequently, today’s e-pissode is going to be largely a good, old-fashioned Potpourri-For-$500-Alex, or whether to let you find that out for your own selves.  We’ll let you know what We decide.

So, how about Anne Hathaway turning out to be Satan?  Didn’t see THAT coming, did We?  Although setting her sights on being Julia Roberts should have been a big ol’ red flag.

Which leads Us to the random thought that if Being John Malkovich had (subjunctively) been Being Julia Roberts, it would have been a very different fillum.

In other news, We are drinking tea.  Because, at the Ack-A-Me yesterday, We forgot to buy coffee, and We have a HouseWhereWeLive full of tea, even though We never drink tea, which is why said tea is still here and not gone, but why was it ever here in the first place?

The tea in question is from Twinings™, and is called “Christmas Tea”.  It is flavored with cloves, and cinnamon, and other spices, and tastes not unlike licking a Christmas tree’s asshole.  A REAL Christmas tree, not an ARTIFICIAL Christmas tree.  Obviously.  Because why would an ARTIFICIAL Christmas tree need an asshole?

All of which serves to explain why We are a little cranky this morning.  Well, that and the fact that We have now been forced to ponder the question of whether plants poop.  They must; modern literature tells Us that EVERYBODY Poops.  But then why do they need fertilizer?

Additionally compounding Our crankitude are Our ongoing efforts to maintain something like a social life and avoid being a complete hermit in the face of The Strains Of Modern Life.  The communication and scheduling feats required to accomplish this are not unlike juggling, if you imagine that you are juggling three balls, one of which is a balloon, one of which is a waffle iron, and one of which is invisible, and, on every third time-around, becomes a chainsaw.

That was poetical, was it not?  Kiss Us quick, We are Maya Angelou.  Or Maya Angelou’s Christmas tree’s asshole.  One of those.

We were just taking a WorldWideInterWebNetzian survey for fun and profit, and they asked Us what features We’d like to see in an e-reader.  To which We amused Ourself by replying, “Paper pages”.

Yesterday, meanwhile, We made meatballs.  Because We are apparently someone’s Italian great-grandmother.  We’re not sure why We’re sharing that, except that some of you who may object to hearing about Maya Angelou’s Christmas tree’s asshole might prefer instead to hear about Our balls.

We are fairly certain that We had some other bit of brilliance to share with you, but it will just have to wait till tomorrow.

Speaking of everybody pooping, We have released Our new Starzina’s Time of the Month Horoscope video for Pisces, which see above.  Here is the link with which you would share same with your friends, both Piscean and otherwise:    http://youtu.be/KMNgwWwNux8 .

Here are the HorrorScopes:

Speaking of Elizabeths, as We were just yesterday, it is Elizabeth Taylor’s birthday.

You have too many little details to handle today  (Tell Us about it.  Didja READ this e-pissode, or didja just nakedly skim it?)

— so make sure that you’re either reenlisting the help you need or deferring some of this insanity until tomorrow or even later.  (“Reenlisting”…”deferring”…”insanity”…aren’t those military terms?)

As devoted as you are to your friends and loved ones, you cannot be responsible for them.  (Well, no.  Because We were never sponsible in the first place.)

So if one of them comes under attack today, you need to think twice before stepping up to defend them.  (Okay, “attack”…”defend”…are We suddenly in the Marines? (Well, that’s just ridiculous…We can’t be in the Marines.  Well, We can, but We can only be in them one at a time.))

In doing so, you could be inserting yourself (Heh.)

into a situation (Uranus.)

that is much more complex than you truly understand. (No, Honey, they repealed “Don’t Ask, Don’t Tell”.)

Instead, you should step back and let them handle this thing on their own. (Aw, where’s the fun in that?)

They won’t feel let down — deep down, they know that you’re there if they need you later.  (This just gets dirtier and dirtier, dunnit?)

You’re usually more of the social leader than the wingperson, but if someone’s calling on you to back them up on a romantic mission, (Or e-mission…)

do your part.  (Indeed.)

Who knows — it could work out for you too.  (Apparently, today, ze jokes?  Zey tell zemselves.)

(Your Your-O-Scopes:

http://www.humorscope.com)

(Meanwhile, why We didn’t think of this sooner, We’ve got no idea, but better laid than necking, as they say (and how right they are!).  For real live actual ass(tromlaogical) ho(roscopular) advice, please visit Our good friend AstroGeek here:  http://agskylab.blogspot.com/.  Our Own epistular musings are of use to you only insofar as making you feel better by comparison, but he will give you actual pertinent advice for your very own lives, based on upon the positions and transitations of all manner of planets, planetoids, asteroids, Altoids™, hemorrhoids, and other heavenly flotsam, jetsam, and Jetsons.  Plus, he knows all about Uranus!)

*****************************************************************************

Starzina Starfish-Browne was born in the wagon of a traveling show…well, okay, not really. She was actually born in Lowake, Texas, the daughter of a beautician and either a garage mechanic or the town mailman. At sixteen, she escaped her humble beginnings by running off with Doctor Browne’s Traveling Medicine Show and, more to the point, Doctor Browne. Following the dissolution of this unfortunate entanglement (Doctor Browne was a Virgo and Starzina is, of course, an Aries), which produced a daughter, Starzina entered a contest in Soap Opera Digest and won a scholarship to Oxford (yes, in ENGLAND), where she earned her doctorate in the newly-created dual major of Astrology and Human Sexuality. There is absolutely NO TRUTH to the rumor that Starzina’s second daughter has Royal blood, despite tabloid photographs allegedly depicting her cavorting on the Italian Riviera with Princes William and Harry, clad only in Prussian helmets and armbands of questionable taste. Starzina currently resides with her daughters in Philadelphia, the City That Loves You (On Your) Back, where she enjoys Double Coupon Day at the local SuperCruise and “encouraging” the coxswain of the Penn rowing team.

                                                                                                                                     

I’m bringing sexy back

Greetings, Executive Reorder Inexplicably Countermanded---


(Those wacky, zany, madcap Chinamen and their “shave-the-red-headed-white-baby” fetish. Heh-heh-heh.)


Here is your horoscope for Monday, March 08, 2010 (We know what you’re thinking. (Oh, yes, We do. We are practically psychic, and We have Our finger on the pulse. (And no, your tighty-whiteys that say “Monday” on them are not deterring Us. Our pulse-seeking finger is intrepid.)) You are thinking, “How does One continue to live in a world in which Sandra Bullock has an Oscar™?” Naturally, We would not bring up your dilemma if We did not have the answer. (We would like to think We are capable of pretending to be kinder than that. At least in public.) And the answer is, you have already been living in a world in which Oscars™ are possessed by Goldie Hawn, Kim Basinger, and Cher. So, although at first you were afraid, you were petrified, We suspect you will survive.):


(We Our Own Selves Personally did not watch the G@y Super Bowl. We were busy cinematically experiencing an indie film called The Open Road, starring Mister Justin Timberlake. (It also starred Mister Jeff Bridges, so, see, topical.) There are spoilers ahead, boyzzz and gurrlllzzz, so, if you’re planning a Justin Timberlake film festival any time soon, you may want to skip to the next paragraph. First off, a synopsis (like your scr0tum, here it is in a nutshell): Minor League Baseball Player Mister Timberlake needs to collect his estranged alcoholic ex-baseball player father, Mister Bridges, from somewhere across the country and bring him to see his ex-wife, Mister Timberlake’s mother, Miss Mary Steenburgen aka Mrs. Ted Danson, who is dying of Old Movie Disease. (She is not Mrs. Ted Danson in the fillum, she is Mrs. Ted Danson in real life. Which is only important to this story in that she apparently had it in her contract that, if she put on Old Movie Disease makeup for these people, they would give her husband a role. So Mister Danson plays Mister Timberlake’s coach in one scene, thereby depriving some actor who really needed the paycheck of work.) There is also some random young actress thrown into the mix to play Mister Timberlake’s girlfriend and thereby demonstrate that Mister Timberlake’s character is Not G@y, but she’s not important because they never have a s3x scene and who the h3ll makes a Justin Timberlake fillum and doesn’t make him take his clothes off? You can tell you’re watching a really cheap indie fillum because there’s only about enough script for A Very Special Episode Of Blossom, so they fill out their ninety minutes with a lot of shots of Mister Timberlake’s red Hummer (no, really) hurtling down various American highways. Said shots being cheap because there are no actors in them.)


(If you cannot predict each and every scene of this cinematic epic, especially the denouement, you have apparently never watched an American movie. Or a General Foods International Coffee™ commercial. Since We were blissfully unhampered by having to pay any attention to the “plot” or the dialogue, We were able to focus on a whole bunch of more interesting things (We are pretty sure We saw a scene where grass grew.) First off, We should mention Mister Harry Dean Stanton. Now, We realize that many of you will not recognize his name, but trust Us, you would Know Him If You Saw Him, as he has been in every fillum made since 1929, with the possible exception of The Women. (That there was a little cinematic joke for Our fellow cinephiles. The Women, you see, didn’t have any men in it.) In this particular instance, Mister Stanton played Miss Steenburgen’s father, but that’s not the point. The point is, We looked him up, and he’s eighty-three years old, BlessHisHeart. Ya know how they say that, as you get older, everything shrinks except the cartilage in your ears and nose, which continues to grow? Well, judging by the size of Mister Stanton’s ears, he’s getting ready for the remake of Dumbo. We’re just sayin’.)


(Also in the fillum in a minor role was Mister Lyle Lovett, who, as far as acting goes, is a pretty good country singer. He is also ten of the least attractive men you will ever see, although We have a special place in Our heart for him, as he was once married to Miss Julia Roberts (yet another Oscar™ winner), and it gives Us great pleasure to think of him banging her like an old screen door.)


(Speaking of Mister Lovett (and, parenthetically (hence the parentheses), throughout all of Sweeney Todd, they never seem to do that), it is during the scene that he shares with Mister Timberlake that the latter’s lack of histrionic powers becomes painfully evident. (We were already presuming Mister Lovett’s lack of histrionic powers, but then, nobody was making him the star of a movie.) Seems Mister Bridges et. al. were carrying Mister Timberlake during most of their scenes. Who knew? Especially since the major emoting required of Mister Timberlake was to brood in a romantically appealing fashion. Now, clearly Mister Timberlake keeps hisself in fine physical shape; even in the Costumes-by-WalMart that were on display here, his fine physique was evident. And We know from other sources that he has more body art than the Rosetta Stone has hieroglyphics (although why they weren’t showing them here is a mystery to Us). Presumably, he cannot help his unfortunate hair, but, at any rate, he has almost all the prerequisite attributes of a first-class romantically-appealing brooder. So why, oh, why didn’t someone send him to a speech teacher so he could stop sounding like Liberace’s hairdresser?)


(Whew! That’s a lotta stuff about fillum! Good thing the Oscars™ only happen once a year! (So did Mister Bridges thank Mister Timberlake in his acceptance speech, or what?))


(Our-O-Scope…)


Anyone who happens to get in your way right now will be bulldozed, trampled and otherwise made to believe that they are not an obstacle worthy of you. (What’s that? An actual insight? Who are you, and what have you done with Kelli?)


Great. (Ah, the old “one-word sentence” trick. Two can play at that game. Aardvark. Rutabaga. Indubitably. See? Simple. @sshat.)


Now help them up and apologize. (We are so very, very sorry that you were stupid enough to try to get in Our way. Howzat?)


Chances are, (Johnny Mathis is a f@g?)


they really weren't out to trip you up deliberately. (A likely story. Of a lovely lady. Who was bringing up three very lovely girls. All of them had hair of gold. From a bottle…)


(Sorry.)


Restraining yourself may be tough, (You think that’s tough, try getting a restraining order against yourself. It’ll say something like “you have to stay five hundred feet away from yourself at all times”, and then won’t you just be in a pickle?)


but it will definitely be easier than the apologies you'll need to make if you let it fly. (We went the whole way back through this horoscope, and that “it” has no antecedent. Grammar Police, lady; you’re under arrest. You have the right to remain silent. Anything you say will be pointed at and mocked for the illiterate gibberish of a retard that it is.)


Hold your breath, if need be. (Can’t We hold other people’s breath instead? We like when they turn blue.)


(YOUR-O-Scopes:


http://www.humorscope.com


wow…atsa spicy cow-a-grass)